


David Potter and the Heir to Everything

by Icefall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Gen, Parody, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 11:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18603397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icefall/pseuds/Icefall
Summary: After years of suffering, an angry boy confronts his headmaster. He is not Harry Potter.(A Wrong Boy-Who-Lived story, from the perspective of Harry's twin.)





	David Potter and the Heir to Everything

David Potter inhaled, exhaled, patted down his robes, and gingerly knocked on the door to Professor Dumbledore’s office.

“Come in, David, no need to knock,” said Dumbledore, putting down his quill and motioning to the cushioned chair in front of his desk. “I see you haven’t elected to watch Harry compete in the Third Task?”

David nodded mutely before sinking into the chair.

“Well then, what brings you here today?” asked Dumbledore.

David gazed at the man across from him. Professor, mentor, family friend, and confidant. Hogwarts headmaster, defeater of Grindelwald, guiding light of magical Britain, and – No. He had to focus. David blinked once, twice, looked straight into Dumbledore’s eyes, and spoke before his anxious mind could catch up with his words.

“Harry Potter is the next Dark Lord.”

If this surprised Dumbledore, the man did not show it. The ancient wizard offered a tired smile.

“I know things have been difficult between you and Harry, but –”

“It’s been worse than difficult. He’s – He’s _not_ _normal_.”

Dumbledore stroked his beard. “I understand why you might feel that way –”

“No. No you don’t. I’ve been trying to tell you this for years. Every time you’ve sent me away. Told me I need to give him space, give him time, consider his upbringing. It’s like you aren’t listening to me, or worse you _don’t care_.” David bit his tongue. “Sir,” he added lamely, trying to lessen the blow of his disrespect. David was the Boy-Who-Lived. Dumbledore had been his protector and mentor since infancy.

Albus Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I apologize for not giving proper weight to your concerns. I see this is affecting you greatly.” He vanished the papers on his desk and rested his elbows there, giving David his full attention. “Please, humor an old man and tell me again what concerns you.”

David let out a breath. “Thank you, Professor. It started, well… it started the day I learned he was my brother. The day I – we – turned eleven. My parents had let me stay up until midnight the day before to wait for my birthday. The moment midnight came, their faces… I still remember it so clearly… Their faces went completely blank, and they just stared at each other in silence for what felt like forever. I suppose that was the moment the Blood Exile Protection Charm you placed on our family lifted and they remembered they had another son. They disapparated. Didn’t even say a word to me. That’s how worried they were… about _him_.”

David searched Dumbledore’s face, trying to gauge the man’s reaction. Dumbledore nodded back to him. “I’m listening.”

“They brought him home officially the next day. Cancelled the birthday party and gave him a tour of Potter Manor instead. And the first thing he did? He started interrogating Dad about the Blood Exile Protection Charm and implying that Mum and Dad were neglectful! All they did was apologize and apologize but he never accepted it. Then we took him to Diagon Alley for school supplies and the ungrateful brat demanded Dad buy him a library’s worth of books and the most expensive trunk in Britain, and of course Dad did it because he was oh so torn up about poor neglected Harry.”

David’s fists were clenched and his breathing heavy. He looked at Dumbledore again, forcing himself to relax.

“Okay, I get it, none of that proves he’s a dark lord. It only shows he’s a prat. But really, it got a lot worse. While Mum, Dad, and I were looking at quidditch supplies, he wandered off and got lost – totally on accident he claimed – and ran into Draco bloody Malfoy. And became his bloody penpal. This boy, this supposed brother of mine, had literally just met me, and the same bloody day he cozied up to the son of a man who would gladly kill me if given plausible deniability. And _don’t_ tell me the boy was just lonely, abused, and desperate for friends. I’ll get to that particular point later.”

David glared at Dumbledore meaningfully.

“Anyway, we got home, not before buying some idiotic hair gel and a custom dragonhide wand holster for the prat, and instead of, you know, talking to us and trying to get to know his estranged family, the prat immediately holed up in the Potter Library to look for Dark Arts books. No really. I wish I were kidding. I actually saw him snatch a copy of _Rites Moste Anciente_ , which is the most questionable book we even own. Or at least it was. He slipped it into his stupid trunk that day and I haven’t seen it since.

“When he wasn’t busy thieving from us, he spent his days writing to Malfoy, studying Voldermort’s ideology – wait sorry, he called it “pureblood customs,” – and practicing magic. And not normal magic either. Apparently, he started learning wandless magic before he even knew what the wizarding world was. Used it to steal food and torment my mum’s sister’s family. I’m telling you, it was like it was ripped straight out of those Tom Riddle memories you showed me.”

David paused and pinned Dumbledore with a meaningful look. “Maybe you’re starting to see where I’m coming from with the whole Dark Lord thing?”

Dumbledore didn’t comment.

“Anyway, it only got worse when we got to Hogwarts. He was sorted into Slytherin, to the shock of no one ever, except Mum and Dad who were of course heartbroken, because oh no, how could they have possibly failed their poor little Harry so badly? Then after two weeks in Slytherin, all the snakes went from hating his guts to flinching when he walked by and tripping over themselves to make nice with him. I don’t even know how he pulled it off… I’d suggest you ask a Slytherin but that lot would lie even if they _weren’t_ being threatened.

“If his obvious social manipulations weren’t enough to prove his future Dark Lord status, he helpfully reminded everyone by spending all his free time in the library learning occlumency and lethal curses for ‘self-defense purposes.’ That is, when he wasn’t sneaking his way onto the Slytherin quidditch team, humiliating me on the pitch, and then cornering me after the game to tell me that he planned to dismantle my life piece by piece until he took possession of everything I cared for… But, you know, healthy sibling rivalry and all that.” David looked pointedly at Dumbledore.

“The next thing he did was start building his power base – I’m sorry, his ‘study group.’ Which conspicuously contained students of all four houses. Including every heir or heiress of a Noble House in our year. And, like any respectable study group, it taught the Dark Arts and forced all members into a magical oath of secrecy. But of course, they admitted Hufflepuffs, so how could they possibly be evil?”

“Anyway, you know the rest. He shows up while I’m confronting Quirrel. Kills the man, steals the stone. Shows up in the Chamber of Secrets. Kills the diary, steals the snake. Shows up at the Gringotts fight. Kills Bellatrix, steals the Black inheritance. Are you seeing a pattern here, Professor?”

Dumbledore sighed. “Ignoring any of Harry’s… personal interests, his actions proved to be to the benefit of wizarding society, when all was said and done.”

David massaged his temples, blood pressure rising. “Professor. He’s a Parselmouth from an abusive Muggle background, with unprecedented magical talent, a reverence for pureblood culture, and an interest in the Dark Arts! He has an ever expanding circle of loyal followers and absolutely no qualms about breaking the law when it serves his personal gain! And you’re telling me none of this sounds familiar? Are you joking?”

David let out a breath and slumped back into his chair, waiting for a response. Silence hung between them as the Headmaster seemed to ponder his words.

“I think you need to give him time,” said Dumbledore.

David snapped.

“Time? What time? He could shag a time turner with the amount of time I’ve given him! Could have wined and dined the bloody thing and added it to his harem of Slytherin girls! That’s how much time he’s had!”

Dumbledore grimaced and opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could, another voice, cold and mocking, broke through the silence.

“Yes, Albus, what time? I think it’s about time I settled things with my dearest Gryffindor brother… And you.”

From a ripple in the air, an invisibility cloak fell away, revealing the cutting, but still glaringly pubescent, figure of one Harry Potter. The boy was gowned in black duelists' robes, wand arm up, revealing an expensive patent black wand holster and several gleaming silver rings.

David gaped. “Hey, that’s my invisibility cloak! I thought I lost it forever!”

Harry smirked. “It has merely been reclaimed by its rightful owner. Maybe if you hadn’t spent all summer playing exploding snap with Weasely and instead studied 14th century pureblood inheritance law like me, this wouldn’t come as such a surprise to you.”

David glared.

“But enough of that,” continued Harry. “I’m here first and foremost to speak to the only Gryffindor in the room with a nonzero IQ.”

Dumbledore’s brow furrowed with concern, but Harry glanced back at David and kept talking.

“Not that your presence here isn’t a welcome surprise, little brother. You wouldn’t know it, but intelligent conversation can get stale.”

David took a few moments to process Harry’s words. “Well you’re a git.”

“Eloquent as ever,” said Harry, pausing, before his lips twisted into an amused smile. “I’d expect nothing less from the Wanker-Who-Lived.”

David bristled at the nickname Harry had coined for him during First Year.

“Yeah?” snapped David. “Well not all of us have a harem of fangirls on hand to meet our needs.”

“Obviously not. But you could if you were intelligent enough to blackmail the staff of Teen Witch Weekly. Or string together two coherent syllables in front of a girl. Either works.”

Blood pounded in David’s head. “Prat.” He stood up, reached for his wand and –

A sharp clap echoed through the room.

“Harry, David,” said Dumbledore. “Why don’t we focus on what you came here to talk to me about?”

“Yes. Quiet, David. The adults are speaking now.”

“You bloody–” began David, before Harry shut him up with a wandless _silencio_.

“Albus,” said Harry. “I have three important pieces of information for you.”

Dumbledore lifted the _silencio_ on David with a flick of his hand, before nodding to Harry. “Go on.”

“First of all, I’d like to congratulate myself for becoming the Triwizard Champion.”

“That’s all?” muttered David. “I’m surprised you put in the effort, considering there was nothing to murder or steal.”

Harry smirked. “On the contrary, brother… That brings me right to my next piece of news. Albus, this is more of a courtesy notification for you. David, you should probably get your quill out, Hermione isn’t here to supplement your capacity for thought.”

David clenched his teeth. “You do realize my wand is still pointed at you, right?”

The wand was ripped from his hand by a wordless _expelliarmus_.

“Is that better? No point carrying around something you don’t know how to use.”

David screeched. Harry silenced him again.

“As I was saying, Albus. My second piece of news. Voldermort has returned.”

Dumbledore paled, and David’s silently moving mouth snapped shut.

“Are you certain?” asked Dumbledore.

“I witnessed it.”

“How...? Please, tell me everything.”

Harry recounted his trip to the graveyard, murder of several Death Eaters, and duel with Voldermort.

By the end of the story, Dumbledore was frantically penning notes for Fawkes to deliver to his allies.

David pressed his hands into his face. _Why?_ The one thing he had been dreading, fearing, for all his life, the cause of countless sleepless nights, had finally come to pass. He wondered how much time he had left. Days, weeks, months? Would he eke out a few joyless years on borrowed time? Or was Voldermort already on his way here to tie up loose ends? David sunk back into his chair, limp, hyperventilating, and on the verge of manic laughter.

Harry eyed him with scorn. “You could thank me, you know. Constantly fighting your battles has set me back months in my experimental spell development projects.”

David’s head spun. _Mum, Dad, Padma_ … Would they miss him? Or had they been expecting this from the beginning?

“Regardless,” Harry continued, eyeing David. “This brings me to my third piece of information. I thought it was about time I made good on my promise from First Year. My master plan, so to speak. You remember it, surely? That I would destroy your perfect life, take away everything you hold dear, and make James and Lily regret ever picking you over me?”

David hiccupped a laugh. “How could I forget?”

“Just checking,” said Harry. “Well, the last piece of my plan is finally falling into place. I’ve stolen your quidditch victories, the House Cup, the Dueling Championship, the Potter Lordship, the Black Inheritance, your friends, your allies, and your fangirls… What do you think is left?”

“You’ll never steal Mum and Dad’s love, you monster,” spat David.

“As if I wanted that.” Harry snorted. “Let me tell you the real answer. My third piece of information. You see, Lord Voldermort and I had a very interesting conversation before our duel. About events that transpired on a certain October thirty-first.”

Dumbledore inhaled.

“That’s right, Albus. I know,” said Harry.

“Harry-” began Dumbledore.

“Shut up,” said Harry. “David, I won’t pretend that you are capable of inferring the truth. So let me spell it out for you. Your entire life is a lie. I’m the real Boy-Who-Lived.”

And with that, Harry whipped out his wand and conjured a second door next to the original door out of Dumbledore’s office.

“I would wish you luck in picking up the pieces of your shattered life, but I doubt there is anything worth salvaging. Good day, little brother. If you need me, I’ll be overseeing renovations to my manor over the next few weeks.”

As Harry stepped towards the door, David hiccupped a laugh. Harry’s head swiveled back, and he narrowed his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

David felt his face heat, and he pressed his lips together, but they twitched, and twitched again, and then he was doubled over, seizing with laughter.

“Sorry,” said David, between laughs. He ran his hand through his hair. “This is just… wow.”

Harry glared daggers at him. “What, exactly, is _wow_ about this situation?”

David took a moment to regulate his breathing before speaking.

“It’s just… this final blow of yours. This master plan, this big culmination of four years of trying to ruin my life… Is telling me that I won’t have to die at the hands of Lord Voldemort?”

Harry stared.

David wiped the tears out of his eyes.

“Sorry for accusing you, Harry. There’s no way you’re Dark Lord material.”

 

…

 

David Potter left Dumbledore’s office with a lightness in his body that transcended anything he’d ever experienced on a broom. He was going to graduate Hogwarts. He was going to ask Padma to be his girlfriend. He was going to practice until his arse was numb and become the best professional quidditch player the world had ever seen. He was going to _live_.

And he owed it all to his git of a brother.

_Thank you, Harry_.


End file.
